Misfortune comes in sets of threes, but recently I’ve lost count of the omens darkening these skies. Understanding is important, but so is justice, and memory to carry change past the span of sympathetic anger. All power in this world is man-made, the bricks still sticky with greased fingerprints. We were supposed to know better.
There are too many fractures in the fabric of what we are when talking of the greater. We let people spill through into the emptiness. We mourn and demonise, plant blame in gardens not our own and pretend to learn from mistakes already repeating. I wrote one poem for today’s Quadrille prompt before I started thinking about everything that has happened over the last few days. We always seem to be learning our lessons too late and apologising rather than preventing. I hope one day that will change.